Dr Molly & her men
by zcvoknout
Summary: Molly Hooper and her relationship with Holmes brothers and other men through the eyes of one Dr. John Watson. Not that he actually wanted to have first seat for watching their weird life/love story. Things just happened. And John was (un)fortunate enough to be present most of the times. Slightly AU, slightly OOC Molly
1. Chapter 1

**_My first foray into Sherlock fanfiction. Reviews are greatly appreciated. English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes you will find._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

First time John Watson saw Molly Hooper was in Bart's laboratory. He was still recovering from Mr. Holmes' deductions of himself. He was staring at the tall, dark-haired man standing behind the working table, mouth agape, when the doors behind John's back opened and small woman entered.

"Ah, Molly! Coffee!" exclaimed Holmes, taking steaming cup from the woman's hands without saying a word of thanks. John raised his eyebrows on this obvious rudeness, but the woman didn't even blink. Holmes took a sip of his coffee, frowned a little and then turned to this _Molly_ , looking a little bit surprised she was still there.

"What happened to lipstick?" he asked. John blinked confusedly. Molly just shrugged.

"It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's to small now." Now John would actually gasp in shock on the man insolence if the woman being insulted didn't just rolled her eyes and smirked sarcastically.

"Charming," she said and then slipped her right hand into the pocket of her lab coat and handed Holmes a homemade sandwich. Man before her eyed the item dubiously.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously, like he was expecting that the filling of the bread would be made of some explosive. The woman - Molly - chuckled.

"I thought you were above stating obvious. It's a chicken sandwich." Her hand didn't waver in the least as she was waiting for Holmes to take the meal. He didn't. Instead, he pouted like little child.

"I didn't want a sandwich."

"And yet you got one. Isn't it wonderful?" Molly said in cheerful voice, obviously mocking the man. John casted one quick look to Mike, trying to find a clue if he should leave. These two were obviously on the bring of having a little domestic and John as sure as hell didn't want to be any part of it. But Mike was writing something to the papers he brought with him, seemingly not paying attention at all to the scene before him. John uneasily turned back to watch Mr. Holmes and Dr. Molly.

Their stances didn't change a bit. Molly was calmly staying there with the knowing smile on her lips (certainly not too small, what was that git thinking?) and Holmes was watching her with frustrated expression in his face. Neither of them said a word, they were just staring at each other. At the end, it was Holmes who broke as a first and in angry voice he barked on the woman before him:

"What?! Don't you have a work to do?" Molly's smile widened as she shook her head.

"Not right now, I'm on my lunch break."

"Then go eat lunch!"

"I will. When I will see you've eaten yours." She nodded towards the sandwich still clasped in her outstretched arm. Holmes gave it dirty look. He obviously considered his options for a short while, but at the end, he snatched the sandwich from Molly's hand and threw it on the table, murmuring something about eating it later. Molly didn't move.

"Are you going to stand here and watch me to eat it?" asked Holmes incredulously when the young woman didn't vacated the room as he probably expected. Molly shrugged her shoulders again.

"If I must..." It was probably her unperturbed tone what was Holmes' undoing. With actual growl he took the sandwich in his right hand, teared the foil off it and with angry: "Fine!" ate the whole thing in three, four large bites.

"Happy now?" he asked afterwards, when he was able to swallow, whipping crumbs from the corners of his mouth, his eyes storming. He was rewarded by the most angelic smile John ever seen.

"Absolutely." Finally satisfied, Molly turned on her heel and headed to the door.

"Dictator," murmured Holmes darkly to her turned back. She smirked and when she was passing John, she winked at him cheekily and whispered at the address of the taller man:

"Man-child."

It was what made John accept Holmes' proposal to go and see the flat together. Not the reasonable rent or convenient location near the city center. But the prospect of seeing that remarkable young woman again. John had fair share of relationships (long _and_ short; some very short) in his life - he was well known for his lady conquests, but for the first time in his life, he believed he had a serious crush on someone.

* * *

Trying to get out of Sherlock (he offered the first name basis practically immediately) _anything_ regarding his relationship with the Molly from Bart's was nearly impossible. John didn't want to step into something and there certainly _was_ something between the two of them, but devil knew what. When he asked Mike, after Sherlock hurriedly left the lab in the hunt of his riding crop (he tried not to think about that much), all he got was deep laughter from his old friend. Not very satisfactory.

He managed to maneuver the topic of the conversation they were having over the diner (and stakeout) to the desired destination, but he was sorely disappointed by results.

"Girlfriends, boyfriends..." he was describing what normal people had in their normal lives. Sherlock just smirked, his eyes never leaving the street behind the window of the restaurant they were sitting at.

"Yes, well, as I was saying... Dull." John sighed and decided to press harder. Neatly wrapped as a joke, he said:

"Don't let your girlfriend hear that." It finally got other's man attention. Sherlock blinked confusedly and asked:

"Who?" John happily offered an explanation:

"Your girlfriend... the woman from the hospital?" Realization dawned into Sherlock's eyes when he finally understood who is John talking about.

"Molly? She's not my girlfriend." He paused there and then almost reluctantly added:

"That's... not really my area." Now it was John's turn to came with a big epiphany.

"Hm... OH! Right," he murmured. Sherlock was again staring out of the window intently, obviously not listening. Still, John carefully asked:

"Do you have a... boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way." Sherlock looked at him with unreadable expression in his face.

"I know it's fine," he said. And nothing more. John was starting to get more and more uncomfortable, his eyes flickering to that blasted candle between them. Talk about weird. With almost desperate smile he asked/stated:

"So you've got a boyfriend then."

"No."

What followed was even more weird and uncomfortable than the whole previous conversation. Thankfully, things were settled to their rights (at least John hoped they were) and shortly after forgotten in the name of crazy chase of the cab and its absolutely irrelevant passenger. John vowed to himself never again ask Sherlock Holmes about his sexual preferences (he would ask Mrs. Hudson in years to come, but _never again_ Sherlock) and to find out about Molly from Bart's dating ability from someone else. Anyone else, in fact.

* * *

What John didn't account for, was that Molly may be in fact already spoken for, even through Sherlock wasn't the one who kept her company at nights, so to speak. From the person that did, however, was John truly... baffled. At first, anyway.

He and Sherlock were just leaving the crime scene, consulting detective giggling like a girl, John himself barely keeping it together. Adrenaline high. He was feeling like his old self again. Bubble cracked when he saw the man who kidnapped him earlier that day staying behind the police tape, obviously waiting for them.

Sherlock didn't waste any time and started arguing with the man. It was actually highly amusing argument, if John would say so. That's it, until the topic turned into very uncomfortable waters - for everyone (except for the man's PA, who was glued to her Blackberry and wasn't paying them any attention whatsoever).

"This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy," said Sherlock's arch-enemy, his face not revealing any actual concern, only his voice. Sherlock on the other hand, was already quite railed up, his own face showing everything.

"I upset her? _Me_? It wasn't _me_ that upset her, Mycroft," he spitted angrily. John would be really concerned for him, if the words previously said by the other man didn't catch up with him at last.

"No. No, wait... Mummy? Who's _Mummy_?" Without looking at him, Sherlock composed himself together enough to answer:

"Mother. _Our_ mother," he smirked quite unhappily and added:

"This is my brother, Mycroft. Putting on weight again?"

"He's your brother?!" John exclaimed incredulously, but he was totally and utterly ignored, for the quarrel between two... _brothers_ continued.

"Loosing it in fact," replied Mycroft. Sherlock narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"Me and Molly think putting on," he declared arrogantly.

"Leave her out of it," sneered Mycroft and for the first time that evening, John could see some real emotion flash across the man's hard features. Anger? Jealousy? Who knew. John certainly not, but what he _was_ keen to know, was Molly's real connection to these two lunatics.

"Molly? From the Bart's? What does she have to do with anything?" he asked, turning to Sherlock for answer.

"Everything."

"Is she your... _sister_?" He really, really wanted Sherlock to say yes, but all his new friend said was:

"In-law."

"Oh..." Well, that was it. Cute and sassy Dr. Molly was married to the British government (as Sherlock described his dear brother). Definitely not available for casual date with retired army doctor. And if the looks two brothers were exchanging were any indication, there was even bigger story hidden somewhere in their obvious animosity. But like a _hell_ he would like to get involved in _that_.

And Mycroft's secretary didn't even remember they met earlier that day. Just his luck. John was frowning the whole way home. Maybe he was loosing his touch?


	2. Chapter 2

First time John Watson spoke to Molly Holmes was about a month after meeting Sherlock and starting the new, little crazy, chapter in his life. Sherlock himself was in Bart's every other day, but he didn't invited John along until now. The good doctor was excited and dreading the visit at the same time. During the whole four weeks between his visits of St. Bartholomew hospital, he didn't hear Sherlock talk about Molly. Not once. He mentioned Mycroft, he even talked to him one evening on the phone (well, more accurately, snapping back at whatever was his brother saying), but not a word about his sister-in-law. Which was odd, because in regard to the only interaction between Molly and Sherlock John witnessed, it seemed that they had much closer relationship than Holmes' brothers.

Probably closer than Sherlock had with anyone else, too. By going with him on cases, John had a chance to get acquainted with Sherlock's circle of... well, friends or even colleagues was probably too bold to say... Circle of people Sherlock _knew_. Mike was already John's friend, but there were others.

First was of course Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, strongly reeking of weed, especially in the evening hours. The woman was complaining all the time (and not only about Sherlock's behavior and habits, but about John's as well!), but she was remarkably resilient when it came to dealing with jars with human livers in her pantry or bullet holes in her wallpaper. It didn't take John long to realize that he couldn't wish for better landlady. And her home-made biscuits were simply worth to die for.

Then there was Detective Inspector Lestrade, whom John found very agreeable and was quickly forming a friendship with. Man knew Sherlock for a quite few years and was unique source of little stories about the consulting detective. Not very flattering ones (through Sherlock would probably see them as such). John made sure to remember every one of them for possible future utilization as a blackmail material, should the need arose. (There was only limited number of times when was John willing to let Sherlock do experiments on him).

Beside these two, there were only Lestrade's coworkers who were around often enough to be doomed as Sherlock's acquaintances. Sergeant Donnovan and forensic specialist Anderson. Both were openly hostile towards the detective, but, needed to say, it didn't seem to bother Sherlock very much. He was returning their insults with fervor, going especially after Anderson, who vexed him on daily basis with his "stupidity". Now, the man surely wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he certainly wasn't an idiot Sherlock claimed him to be. But then again, everyone was an idiot in Sherlock's eyes.

They were currently chasing a man, who killed his wife after finding about her affair with her yoga instructor (even John had to admit it was really cliché... god, four weeks with socially inept git and he was more cynical than after his first tour in Afghanistan!). Sherlock was annoyed that he was called for such trivial case and wanted it closed as soon as possible, so he stormed into mortuary like a tornado and without a word for greeting demanded to see a body. Before John could scold him for his behavior, Molly turned her head to them and with smile said:

"Hi Sherlock. Coming for Mrs. Paddlestone?" Sherlock made his way to her while smirking unpleasantly.

"Obviously. She's your only murder today." John had no idea where his flatmate obtained this information, but given the answer Molly provided, it was obviously true.

"Some people would consider this fact to be a good news," the woman smiled. She put on the gloves and went open the drawer, Sherlock shadowing her every move.

"I am not _some_ people," he murmured and that was when John noticed Molly rolling her eyes.

"No you're not," she assured him. She unlocked the freezer doors. Sherlock reached to open them, but she slapped his hand away. Look Sherlock gave her was a perfect imitation of kicked puppy.

"Gloves and protective gear on, please," the pathologist said. Now it was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes up. He didn't say a word and again reached for the freezer handle, only to be stopped by his sister-in-law again.

"Sherlock! I mean it!" Molly folded her arms on her chest and blocked the freezer door with her own body, entering a staring contest with the tall man. John was torn between instinct to run and hide and urge to keep watching how it's going to end.

"Why? Lestrade already let me check the crime scene like this!" Sherlock pouted. Molly wasn't impressed.

"Philip had to be thrilled," she murmured. John was a bit surprised Sherlock caught up on who she was talking about. He wasn't able to get Lestrade's name right one single time John was present, but he remembered Anderson's name? Odd. But before John got a chance to submerge any deeper into this, he was brought back to the scene playing before him.

"He was yammering something about contamination..." was Sherlock saying dismissively, looking utterly bored. Molly's frown deepened.

"As he had every right to."

"You are not seriously taking sides with Anderson, do you?"

"Well, as his fellow forensic professional I naturally do."

"Traitor."

"Brat." Their voices started to raise up. Well, Sherlock's was. Molly was only talking louder, but otherwise looked collected. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked like he's going to loose it any time soon. John was fascinated. It seemed that the episode he witnessed between these two a month ago wasn't one time occurrence. Apparently, there was someone who managed to out-argue Sherlock Holmes and not break a sweat. John again felt faint stab of disappointment over the fact that this woman was actually already taken. Such a shame.

"Lestrade let me!"

"Lestrade is not in charge of this morgue. _I am_. Now put the gear on!" Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John knew exactly what is going to follow. And he wasn't wrong.

"Why are you being so difficult today? Normally you would settle for surgical mask over my mouth. Are you on your period? It's to soon for you be on your period."

"Yes, it is. That's exactly why I am so annoyed. Now be a darling and put the gear on, if you want to see this body." They stared at each other for a few seconds. And then Sherlock backed, causing John almost whoop. Yes, there indeed was a person to win an argument with Sherlock Holmes. And while it wasn't him, it gave him a hope for future.

"Fine," the detective scowled and begrudgingly made his way to the cupboard hosting spare scrubs and masks. John caught Molly giving herself satisfied smile as she opened the drawer. Smile, which quickly disappeared when she caught Sherlock muttering under his breath:

"Save a little of your charming attitude for Mycroft."

"I'm warning you," she actually growled at the man, giving him more than annoyed look, but Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to her anymore, already having his magnifying glass in his hand and literally _sniffling_ around the corpse of middle aged woman. Molly was watching him for a minute and then she turned to John, leaving her brother-in-law play alone.

"So, how's living with the giant toddler?" she asked while she snapped the gloves off her hands and threw them away. Smile she gave him seemed hundred percent genuine and John found himself reciprocate it. However, the answer on her question was more complicated than it seemed.

"Interesting..." drawled John out after what seemed like ages. Well, what could he say? After a month, John was slowly getting used to his flatmate's peculiar ways of living. He got on surprisingly well with Sherlock's night violin concertos, little less so with the contents of their fridge. He was an army doctor, hardened by two tours in Afghanistan, but not even back then they kept severed limbs in the freezer beside expired milk. They either stitched them back to the body or left for hyenas.

Molly noticed his hesitation and smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry. Probably nothing you can say will shock me." Before John could stop himself, he blurted out.

"He has human thumbs in the fridge." True to her word, Molly didn't even flinch. Not that John expected her to,she was a pathologist after all, but he still thought that storing human tissue next to the food would at least gained him a raised eyebrow. Not the following answer.

"I know, I gave them to him." John blinked.

"What?" Molly smiled and explained.

"He wanted them for studying of decomposition of human nails in different environments. I guess he forgot about them, since only few days after that I gave him some spare eyeballs. He probably played with them instead. I... provide him with some samples from our labs from time to time so he wouldn't get... bored." Well, logically John knew that the fingers had to come from somewhere and this was probably better option that Sherlock visiting new graves and taking souvenirs with him. Still. Couldn't Sherlock just play Monopoly like normal person when he got bored?

"I... uh..." he was trying to come up with some answer, but no words were forming in his mouth, just gibberish. Molly watched him with growing concern in her eyes.

"Are you alright, Dr. Watson?" she asked and that finally made John recuperate. He shook his head. Okay. He had to deal with it. This was his life now. Human thumbs in his fridge and cute doctors who provided them. Fine. Could be worse. He smiled at the woman standing before him.

"Yes... yes I am. And please, call me John." he proffered his hand, remembering that they were never actually officially introduced. Molly answered with a wide smile of her own and firm shake of his hand.

"Very well, John. I'm Molly... as you already know," she winked and if not for the fact he know for sure she was married (to a very dangerous man), John would drop a coffee invitation right then and there. Too bad.

"Yes. I'm thrilled to finally properly meet you." That was true. Unlike the words which followed. He didn't even know why he said it. Probably because it would be absolutely harmless if this was a conversation between anyone else who wasn't associated with the world's only consulting detective. Just a generic courtesy. But, in this case...

"Sherlock was talking about you nicely." Molly actually looked like she would burst out laughing at this.

"No, he wasn't," she shook her head and John didn't even bother to argue. Sherlock never spoke nicely about anyone. Not genuinely, anyway.

"No, he wasn't," John admitted. Then the next sentence plopped out of him before he could stop himself, half question, half statement, indicating what was really bugging him.

"But you are friends." On that, Molly actually laughed.

"Sherlock doesn't do friends. And even if he did, I would be the last person to be named as such by him." There wasn't any bitterness in her voice, she was just stating the fact, but it still made John gasp in shock.

"I'm sure that's not true," he... assured her? What could he know? Molly opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut short by the man in question himself, who sneaked up on them, clearly finishing examining the body.

"Yes it is," said Sherlock, ignoring Johns gob-smacked expression. He started disrobing the protection gear, not looking at either of his companions while talking:

"Now, if you've finished your pointless chit-chat, we need to get going." That was obviously targeted on John, but it was Molly, who answered, using falsely sweet voice doing so.

"Stop being so rude, Sherly." Sherlock gave her a death stare, while John had to summon all his powers to prevent himself from snickering. Well, these two may have claimed not being friends, but they certainly acted a lot like ones. On the kindergarten level, anyway.

"Don't call me Sherly," detective hissed, thrusting the gown into Molly's hands, who gave him sweet smile.

"As you wish, Curly-bee," she said, while making her way to the bin. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Talking to Mummy again?" Molly just shrugged.

"Well, someone has to, since you or Myke won't." John noticed that Sherlock smirked at Molly using a nickname for her husband, which could mean only one thing - Mycroft hated it. Thankfully, he didn't say anything on this matter, only addressing his sister-in-law after she came back to them, her arms now sans used scrubs.

"By the way, I can't believe you made me dress up for this," he motioned with his head to the table where the body of their case was resting. Molly smiled.

"Well, you _could_ just ask for my report, it's all there. But you didn't." She smirked at Sherlock's offended frown.

"You are evil," he uttered, trying to sound angry. But John would swear that there was tiny trace of amusement and... _pride_ in Sherlock's voice as well. Hm... curious.

They exchanged a few more jabs and then finally telling their goodbyes parted their ways, John and Sherlock heading to east London, where according the newly gained evidence their murderer was hiding and Molly back to the dead who were waiting for her in their cold metal beds. John tried to start a conversation with his partner about Molly (naturally), but without any success. It seemed, that whatever was going on between these two (three, including Mycroft) was for John to unveil on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

First time John saw Sherlock scared was after the stand off with Moriarty at the pool. Sherlock of course denied it, but John was a war veteran. He knew fear and panic, even hidden one, when he saw it. And Sherlock's eyes were wild with terror, when he was calling his brother to inform him, that one of his wife's friends is actually a psychotic criminal mastermind. It was also the first time John realized, that whatever was between Holmes brothers and Molly, was definitely not over.

Time went by at surprisingly high speed with Sherlock Holmes in his life now. John finally got a normal job and promptly almost loose it again, thanks to the bunch of Chinese smugglers, but thankfully, his new boss was more than helpful. And very nice. And willing to go out with him even after she was tied to the chair and had a very big crossbow pointed at her. John liked Sarah right away, successfully getting over his crush on Molly in the matter of minutes, once again proving (at least to himself), why he was called "Three continent Watson". Yep, he still got it. After Molly and the fiasco with Mycroft's assistant, that was exactly what he needed.

So John's life gained a new rhythm, consisting of days at the clinic, days (and sometimes) nights chasing criminals all around London and frequent visits to the Bart's labs and morgue. He liked it. As much as he claimed opposite, he loved the adrenaline rush he got every time he and Sherlock successfully wrapped yet another case. He liked it so much, that he actually started write about it on his blog. Blog that up till now nobody read. But, with every new case they solved, new fans emerged. John had a feeling that Sherlock is on the road to become quite famous. Which promoted _him_ into the position of sidekick. He still didn't decided if it was a honor or an insult.

All was well. And then the bombings started.

They were once again in the Bart's lab, Sherlock immersed in his tests, John torn between worried and excited. As horrible as it was, this was their biggest case yet... and, well, after the months together, he could understand why got Sherlock such a rush out of it. But unlike his friend (he caught himself calling Sherlock his friend now and then now), he was still in contact with reality and realized that there were actual human lives at stake.

Doors opened and in slipped Molly, cheery as always, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Any luck?" she asked no one in particular, but getting answer from Sherlock nevertheless.

"Oh, yes!" It were first words Sherlock uttered in almost an hour and John was really glad that the dead silence in the lab was finally broken. Sherlock didn't let him help much with the tests he was running, so he was mostly just standing around and browsing the net, looking for funny cat videos (absolutely Molly's fault, since it was her who started to send them to him some weeks ago).

Sherlock was ready to burst into one of his lengthy and exhausting (for listeners) rants, when the doors suddenly opened again and in came young, dark-haired man, nervously smiling a looking around.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't..." he stammered. Molly turned to him and greeted him so enthusiastically, that John didn't need to be a genius to figure out this was staged.

"Jim! Hi! Come in, come in," Molly urged the man inside, taking his hand and moving him closer to Sherlock.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes," she announced solemnly. John smirked. Yep, definitely staged. It seemed that Sherlock had some fans even among Molly's friends and Molly, helpful soul she was, wanted to make her friend happy. Pity that Sherlock didn't even bother to look up from his microscope.

Silence was getting uncomfortable. In the vain try to salvage what she could, Molly introduced John too, but her friend had eyes only for Sherlock. John wasn't really hurt by that. He more felt sorry for Molly, who stood between the two men, obviously at loss at what to do.

"So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" Jim tried to indulge sherlock in the conversation, but without any success. Molly chipped in.

"Jim works in IT upstairs, that's how we met," she smiled, Jim returning the smile. John didn't know if Sherlock noticed that or he just randomly decided to speak at that moment, but the silence from the consulting detective was finally broken by single word.

"Gay." Molly blinked.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock actually looked a little bit confused by her question and John thought if the git even realized he was talking out loud. Probably not. Wouldn't be the first time. However, he quickly put himself together and answered.

"Nothing. Uhm, hey," and even gave their visitor a little wave. That apparently boosted Jim's confidence, for he made a few steps closer to Sherlock and started happily stutter.

"Hi. (overthrown metal bowl) Sorry, sorry! (trying to pick it, kicking into the chair in the process) Uh... (two steps back, stepping on John's foot) Well," Jim looked around helplessly. Sherlock was giving him a disdainful look. That probably doused any courage Jim had and set him running. He turned to Molly, who was watching the whole scene from her position at the table.

"I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox? About sixish?" Molly nodded.

"Yeah, sure." Jim smiled and once more time looked at Sherlock, bidding him goodbye. Sherlock was ignoring them again, so John answered for him. The second doors closed behind him, Molly's smile dropped and she sharply barked at her brother-in-law:

"What was _that_ supposed to mean, Sherlock?" Detective lazily narrowed his back and turned to face her.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Molly wiggled a finger dangerously close the man's eyes.

"Don't play coy with me. Why were you so rude to him? He's your big fan, you could at least pretend you're listening. God knows you are good at _that_." For the first time he knew her, John had a feeling that Molly is actually really pissed at Sherlock. They bickered all the time, but this time, she seemed really upset. But he wasn't sure if Sherlock actually noticed, since human emotions was still an alien concept to him most of the time.

"And what was that "gay" comment? Just because the guy puts products in his hair doesn't make him gay. I put products in my hair," John added. Sherlock pointed finger at him.

"You wash your hair, there's a difference." John knew what was going to follow.

"Oh no."

"Tinted eyelashes, signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there is his underwear."

"His underwear?" squeaked Molly in disbelief.

"Visible above the waistline, very particular brand. Plus the suggestive fact that he left his number under this dish." With a triumphant smile he fished a piece of paper from under the metal bowl Jim threw down and waved it in Molly's face. John had no idea what reaction was Sherlock expecting from her, but her shrugging her shoulders wasn't probably it.

"Okay, he's gay. So what?" Sherlock blinked, but recovered pretty quickly.

"I'm merely trying to be helpful. If you're looking for an office romance, I suggest you invest your time into someone who's not interested in the same sex as you." On that, John groaned and wished to be invisible. So he could continue to listen to this without danger being hit by flying scalpel. Which could easily happen any time, given the expression on Molly's face.

"I'm not looking for an affair! I'm happily married, remember?"

"Well, I don't know about that happily part..."

"Sherlock, shut up right now," Molly growled, but Sherlock ignored her.

"You've put on three pounds since I last saw you. Mycroft's diet is not going according the plan? Or are you just plainly eating your feelings, as they say?"

"Two and a half."

"No, three. Normally, I would cross it off as a bi-product of your _indubitable_ domestic bliss, but given the circumstances..."

"What circumstances?!"

"You are chasing unfortunate gays for evening meetings, you're not wearing your wedding ring and your husband is... well, _Mycroft_." For a second, John was sure that Molly is going to jump on Sherlock and snap his neck. So he was pleasantly surprised how well she was able to contain the anger that was undeniably bubbling inside her veins and calmly responded to Sherlock.

"Me and Jim are going out for casual friend-date. With other four people. I never wear my ring at work. I don't wear any jewelery. It's in regulations. Right under prescribed working clothes for the work in the morgue. You would know, if you ever bothered to read that thing. And my husband is very nice man, thank you very much." She finished with head held high. Sherlock watched her silently for a few seconds and then scowled:

"Pfff... nice man. Who are you trying to fool?" That earned him a sharp kick in the shin. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but at the end, something stopped him (thankfully) and he didn't dare. Instead, he jumped up, grabbed his jacket and swiftly left the lab. John and Molly were left alone, standing in complete silence.

"I guess I should go after him," said John finally and started to gather his own things.

"Help yourself," muttered Molly. John gave her quick look. She looked tired, exhausted even and at the same time kind of resigned, like she had this kind of conversation before and not once. John felt pissed at his friend in that moment. Bad blood between Sherlock and Mycroft was still live and well and it's consequences were spilled all over Molly's head. At least, that was John's theory. He couldn't imagine anything else Molly could have done to earn Sherlock's wrath, other than marrying his big brother.

He wanted to offer some words of consolation, but none came up, so John quietly put his jacket on and made his way to the door. But before he touched the doorknob, he was stopped by Molly's voice.

"John, when was the last time he slept?"

"Uh... I don't know. Last... Saturday?"

"Could you do me a favor? After this bombing case is finished, hit him over his head with something and make sure he stays in bed." John smiled. Even after all he just told her, Molly would make sure Sherlock was taken care of.

"Hit him? With pleasure," he assured her and then he finally left.

Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to hit Shrelock this time. They spend another two hours at the pool, telling Mycroft what happened while his goons were swiping the place from the top to bottom. John could tell that not only Sherlock, but Mycroft too was horrified that someone so dangerous got so close to them. And to Molly. And while camouflaging it pretty well, John noticed that Sherlock started to calm down only when he received message from Mycroft on their way home, that Molly's security status was updated.

When they finally arrived to Baker Street, John was too physically and emotionally exhausted to even try make sure Sherlock gets his beauty sleep, so he just said: "Molly said you should sleep" and left for his bedroom. When several hours later went to kitchen for glass of water, he found Sherlock gone. All over the couch were maps and blueprints of St. Bartholomew's hospital. And when John checked his wallet, he found all his cash gone. With this realization, he shook his head and went back to bed. St. Bart's and neighborhood was about to become a new hot spot for homeless from all over the London.


	4. Chapter 4

First time John Watson got some real look inside Sherlock/Molly/Mycroft history was paradoxically at time when Sherlock was preoccupied by their complicated relationship the least for the first time they knew each other. It was thanks to the mysterious Irene Adler, a dominatrix, who kept Sherlock's attention for surprisingly long time.

It was Christmas John wasn't likely to forget anytime soon. Since "Jim from IT" fiasco, Sherlock and Molly were tiptoeing around each other. Separately, they told John why - Sherlock was mad at himself because he let Moriarty slip between his fingers and Molly was feeling guilty for leading Moriarty so close to Sherlock. John offered them same advice - talk to each other, but he could just as well talk to the walls.

After Sherlock deduced his sister-in-law almost to tears (what was it with this man and his fixation on idea that Molly had to be unfaithful to her husband?!) he surprised everyone (maybe even himself) by honest apology. Too bad it was interrupted by really poorly timed text message. After Sherlock disappeared into his room, John couldn't help himself and asked:

"I don't understand. He's so nasty to you. Why are you putting up with him?" Molly gave him a sad smile.

"He's my family," she answered, simple and honest. Then of course she added:

"And I was promised his brain after he dies." John more heard than saw Jeanette cough on her wine. Needed to say, no one else in the room was even slightly shaken by that statement and it once again reminded John how much his life changed over the last year. Fingers in the pantry and talks about human brains were doing nothing for him anymore. By now, he would be more concerned if there were _no_ human parts in their freezer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone.

"Sorry, I have to take this," apologized Molly and retreated with her phone to the kitchen, where she answered in the muffled voice. It wasn't a long conversation and when she came back to the main room, she wore an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to go. I'm on call duty tonight." Greg promptly jumped up and started helping her into the coat he just minutes ago took from her. Mrs. Hudson sat down her glass of brandy (never empty, that glass, noticed John amusedly) and surprisingly easily stood up from her chair.

"You have to go to work, dear? I cannot imagine there would be that much work to do tonight!" On that, Molly snorted.

"Are you kidding, Mrs. Hudson? It's Christmas, busiest time of the year. Lots of depressed people, lost of suicides. Am I right, Greg?" John chuckled at her absolutely insensitive comment. Jeanette beside him gasped. Right. New normal, but just for him.

"Hear, hear. Do you want me to take you there?" asked Greg and was already reaching for his own coat, but Molly stopped him.

"No need for police, thanks. Mycroft is sending me a car." Right on the clue, there was a beep from Molly's phone, probably signaling that the car arrived. Greg shrugged, gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat back to the chair, obviously happy he doesn't have to go out. Molly looked around.

"Well, Merry Christmas, everyone. Jeanette, it was nice to meet you." John's girlfriend (of the hour, added voice which sounded annoyingly like his flatmate, in his head) uneasily reciprocated the wishes.

"Ehm... you as well, Molly." Then, with one last wave, Molly was gone.

Not long after the pathologist left, Sherlock emerged from his room. Without a word he dressed up and left the flat. John was watching him through the window until he disappeared behind the corner.

"You think it has something to do with Molly being called to work?" asked John. Greg correctly assumed that the question was targeted primary at him. He waited until John was seated back in his chair (leaving Jeanette in the too loving company of Mrs. Hudson) and then answered.

"Possibly. I'm pretty sure it was Mycroft calling her, though, not hospital."

"Yeah?"

"Yes... every time there is some high profile case, Molly is the one on it. In case you didn't notice, Holmes brothers have some serious trust issues and Molly is very trusted by both of them." John chuckled. He couldn't argue with that.

"Well, she is Mycroft's wife..." he shook his head. Greg gave him a questioning look. John chuckled again.

"Sorry, even more than year after, it just sounds weird." Well, not that Molly was married, in John's modest opinion, she was every man's dream. What baffled him was the fact she was married to Mycroft Holmes. Of course, John didn't know Mycroft that well, meeting him only a handful of times, but he just couldn't imagine the older Holmes brother being someone's husband. But, what he knew. Maybe in private, Mycroft was completely different person. Maybe he liked to take a dog out for a walk and eat homemade biscuits while watching evening news on telly with his wife sitting by his side, both of them wearing fluffy slippers and matching robes.

When his mind procured this mental picture, John had to take extra large sip from his glass.

Greg probably guessed what was going on in his friend's mind. He gave John, pat on the back and said:

"I hear you, man... and you even don't know the whole story." That peaked John's interest.

"And you do?" Greg smirked.

"Well... part of it." John expected him to continue, but the detective said nothing. So John refilled his glass and prompted him.

"Well? Come on, do I have to beg you?" Greg laughed, settled himself more comfortably in the chair and then finally started.

"Okay, here comes: Molly and Sherlock met at university."

"What?"

"They were working together on some project back there."

"About what?"

"I have no idea. I actually don't even know what was Sherlock studying. But, I know they become friends." Molly's words from the past echoed in Johns head and he found himself repeating them out loud.

"Sherlock doesn't do friends." Greg shrugged his shoulders.

"He did back then. True, he was probably high most of the time, but fact is, he and Molly were close." He paused for a minute and John was once again reminded how little he actually knew about Sherlock's past. By know, he pieced together bits and pieces so he had some idea about what was Sherlock up to in his early years. Drugs were probably just a tip of the iceberg.

John snapped out of his thoughts and asked Greg to tell him more.

"What happened?" Lestrade sighed.

"Mycroft happened."

"Huh?"

"He came visit his little brother one spring weekend and six months later was married to Molly Hooper." This time, John actually choked on the wine he just had in his mouth.

"What?! You're joking," he said disbelievingly. Greg sighed.

"I wish."

"How did Sherlock... take it?"

"Like he takes everything. He closed himself to everyone... except Molly." John's eyes almost fell out of its sockets at this.

"Really? I would expect him to start sulking and accusing her for betraying him for his brother or something like that." Detective chuckled.

"Oh, he did all that, of course. They had a _huge_ fight over the triple homicide." That sounded so absurd and so them, that John had to laugh.

"Romantic." Greg grinned and nodded.

"Yep. He was snippy and cruel, she was patient and understanding, which made him even more annoyed... but Molly had the last word, if I remember correctly."

"She always does." There was as much admiration as envy in that statement. To this day, John wasn't sure he won a single argument with his friend. Sometimes, he thought he did, only to realize later that in fact he didn't. Sherlock was good at confusing people even when he wasn't there.

"Molly didn't let him chase her away. She was with him the whole time Sherlock was getting off the drugs. Mycroft as well, of course, but I always had a feeling that Molly had much bigger impact on the git than his own brother." That statement caught John's attention.

"Did Sherlock and Molly... you know... were ever a thing?" he almost wished for Greg to say yes, but silver-haired policeman shook his head.

"No idea. Really. I didn't know him _that_ well back then. I met him on one drug bust in some junkie house. He deduced my former partner to tears. And on our way to station deduced _me_ and I was... impressed. I offered him that I would take him with me on cases, if he put himself together, but the moment Mycroft bailed him out, I haven't heard of him for another eight months. Then he showed up like we spoke together just yesterday and that he's there to take me up on my offer. He wasn't clean, far from it, but by then, he had Molly with him and, well... she convinced me to give him a chance, promised she will keep him in check. And she did. She even managed to get him back in the school. And that's when Mycroft butted in." Greg frowned, probably remembering _his_ first meeting with older Holmes brother. John let him for a few seconds and then incited him to continue.

"What did he do?" Greg refilled his glass again.

"As I said... I really don't know what happened, what made Molly marry Mycroft. But whatever it was, Sherlock didn't take it very kindly." He sounded actually little sorry for their friend. But not sorry enough not to add:

"No surprise there." He chuckled, but continued immediately.

"One day, Molly just showed up with a ring on her finger. They had that fight and after that, I didn't saw Sherlock for almost a year."

"He went back to drugs?" That seemed like a thing young angry Sherlock would do, but Greg replied otherwise.

"He went to rehab." John gaped.

"Really?" Lestrade nodded and leaned closer to John, like he was telling a secret.

"I have no idea how she managed that. Or maybe he went in spite of her, just to prove her he could... what I know. But he _did_ get off the sauce. And as far as I know, he's been clean since then." Greg leaned back and in normal way added:

"You helped a lot, too." John blinked, surprised.

"Me?"

"Yeah... you keep him company. As much as he's claiming otherwise, Sherlock is not really that good at being alone." That was actually quite a praise, on which John didn't know how to react, so he just shrugged.

"Well, he needs an audience for his deductions." Greg laughed.

"Yep... that too," he said and then stood up, saying that he should probably go, since the party was kind of downer anyway. He let Mrs. Hudson pack him some food and sweets (because they all knew that Sherlock was right and him coming back to his wife for Christmas was not happening), snagged a bottle of wine from the kitchen (John had no idea where those expensive bottles came from, but since it wasn't from his pocket, he really didn't cared that much) and bid them all good night and Very Merry Christmas.

Shortly after that, John received a call from a big brother himself and the rest of the night was filled by going through the whole flat and looking for Sherlock's hidden stashes. And by his break-up with Jeanette. Well, he probably should see that one coming.

When Sherlock returned, he just said they better not messed up his socks index and then he swiftly disappeared in is room, shutting door after him. John stayed up, listening and waiting for any indication Sherlock could be in trouble there. But not a peep was heard and when John went check on him around midnight, he found Sherlock still dressed and standing by the window, his hands under his chin in his typical thinking position. His friend didn't say a word, so John just took a quick look around the room. When he didn't found anything suspicious, he retreated, not closing the door all the way.

He poured himself another glass of scotch (seriously, where were they getting this stuff, this bottle was twenty years old!) and sat down in his chair, pondering over all that happened this night, from Irene Adler to Greg's story about Molly and Sherlock. And especially by that was John stunned.

Was this it? Was _that_ the reason for the animosity between the two brothers? Did Mycroft actually _snatched_ Molly from Sherlock? If he did, that whole "petty feud" was getting pretty huge proportions. And Sherlock's disdain for emotions was getting a new meaning as well.

John sighed. Well, at the beginning he told himself he won't get tangled in their mess, but it seemed it was too late. Now he _needed_ to find out what was going on between them. Or get a new girlfriend. Whatever keeps him busy.


	5. Chapter 5

First time John got a little peak of what could be between Sherlock and Molly if things were different, was just a couple of weeks after their case in Dartmoor. Drugs and manipulation struck probably a little too close to home this time for Sherlock, for he was unusually quiet in the days following their return from the moors. His excitement from solving the case never lasted for long, he was always looking for something new immediately afterwards, but this time, his friend looked positively somber. So when Molly visited one day, equipped by bio-hazard hand-freezer and bottle of chlorine, John was more than happy to invite her in. She could always lift Sherlock's mood without the man even realizing it.

"Hello, John!" young pathologist gave him a big smile and quick kiss on the cheek, before thrusting her baggage into his hands so she could take off her coat. John smiled.

"Molly! What brings you by?" he examined the contains of the bag he currently held. Beside the chlorine it held also a pair of rubber gloves, scrubbing brush and few glass bottles of unidentified liquids. Molly took her bags back.

"Oh, I'm just coming to clean up your fridge," she said and then quickly disappeared in the kitchen. John followed.

"That's great. I think I saw something moving there yesterday," he joked while rolling up his sleeves, getting ready to help. He knew that once in a while, Mrs. H. would have enough and call Molly, begging her to come and take all those "horrible things" back to Bart's labs and morgue, where they belonged. John wasn't really keen on cleaning after his flatmate, but Molly being here now prompted him into sudden surge of cavalierness. He would get proper mocking from Sherlock later, he was sure.

"Don't exaggerate, John." Or very early. John turned just in time to see Sherlock enter the kitchen door. He was bolted in his room previously, but hearing Molly's voice would get him out instantly. Well, that and the fact they were about to "destroy" the fridge laboratory. Damn his vulcan hearing!

Molly greeted him with another happy smile, put the gloves on and energetically opened the fridge, taking out the first green thing she saw. After examining it carefully for few seconds, she turned to her companions.

"And I think that this mold is already capable of independent thinking." John nose was hit by unpleasant odor coming from something what was once probably perfectly harmless, but now looked like it could attack them any given moment. He presented Molly with her bio-hazard container and average plastic bin bag, letting her decide what to use. Molly nodded towards the bag. Thing in her hands was then once edible and not a part of human body. But before they could bin it, they were interrupted by Sherlock, who jumped between them, trying to save... well, by now probably another sentient being.

"Well, I would hope so, since that was the primary goal of that experiment," he tried to take the plate with greenish blob away from Molly and put it back to fridge, but the pathologist was faster, quickly ducking under Sherlock's arm and dumping the thing into the bag John held open. One down, infinite number to go.

Molly danced back to the fridge and John grinned at his friend.

"Joking, huh? You are in the good mood." Yep, Molly worked like a charm. Sherlock gave him one searching look, probably wondering what is _he_ about, but before he got a chance to say anything, Molly spoke again.

"Are you?" Not waiting for answer, she quickly made her way towards John.

"Better use it. I'm throwing this away too." In her hands was a opened tin can, one that resided in their fridge for almost a month now, if John remembered correctly. Sherlock's eyes widened in terror.

"No! Molly! I spent weeks on that!" he yelled and launched after her, this time being successful in stopping her. She gave him an impatient look.

"Sherlock, you know the rules. When it starts demand feeding, it has to go." The great detective pouted.

"That's inhumane." Molly giggled.

"Well, since this was originally a liver pate, _goose_ liver pate if I'm not mistaken, I can live with that," she said and nodded to John to came closer. Sherlock shot the blond doctor a sharp look, warning him to stay away. John just smirked, but for his own safety did stop a few steps short of them and let Molly deal with this man-child. They were arguing for a while over the possible benefits coming from this experiment (even though John was sure it never was an experiment but someone's forgotten lunch). As usually, Molly had the last word and the tin ended up in the bin at the end. Sherlock watched this burial with certain degree of melancholy in his eyes.

"It always starts with liver pate," he said at the end, then with the words he can't watch this any more left the kitchen and went sulking on the couch. John and Molly exchanged a look, before bursting into giggles.

"I'm not even asking what was that supposed to mean," snorted Molly, turning towards the fridge once more.

"Better not," agreed John, stepping beside her.

They spend next two hours by going through the contains of the fridge, Molly carefully assessing what wast worth saving (apparently, some of Sherlock's experiments were interesting to her... but apparently not enough to let him make a mess with hem in her lab), what was safe to dispose into general waste and what had to be taken care of by her later.

When they finally finished, they scrubbed the fridge with chemicals Molly brought (some of them of her own making, apparently), ridding it off the smell and grown-in bits on the shelves. They collapsed in the chairs in the living room afterwards, John into his and Molly in Sherlock's, completely exhausted. Not bothering if she wanted any, John reached to a hidden place beside the fire place and took out his emergency scotch bottle, taking a sip and without a word handing it to Molly. Pathologist gratefully excepted.

Sherlock was still lying on the couch, furiously typing on his phone, not paying them any attention.

"I read your last blog post. Hounds of Baskerville. Nice," Molly broke the silence, took another sip from the bottle and gave it back to other doctor. John smiled at her prise. She was his faithful blog follower since the moment he told her about it.

"Thank you. Did you like the scene in the forest?" he asked and Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"I loved it. Felt like I was there." John took a bigger sip this time, before seriously answering.

"Be glad you weren't. It was... pretty intense." Molly hummed in response.

"I guess... I mean, chemical minefield. Sounds... well, kind of genius, but scary."

"Yeah... made you see things that weren't there." Silent grunt was heard from the couch and both doctors turned their head towards Sherlock laying there. He stopped typing and was just clasping the phone in his hands, staring at it.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" asked Molly carefully. Detective didn't answered for a few seconds, but then he turned to look at her, giving her a murderous look.

"You just threw away my months work. And my dinner. What do you think?" he was eying her angrily, but John could tell she wasn't fooled by that. If he really wanted, he wouldn't let them touch the fridge. Molly smiled at him.

"I will bring you new one."

"Experiments or dinner?"

"Both." They shared a look that lasted a bit longer than John felt comfortable with (they were doing it from time to time and it was often like they disappeared into their own little world and forgot John was still there), but thankfully this time snapped out of it quite quickly.

"Very well... you are forgiven," said Sherlock and turned his attention back to his phone, once again typing like his life depended on it. Molly chuckled.

"Thanks. Now answer the question." John shortly laughed out loud. Yes, Molly could read his fried like a book.

Sherlock answered while never stopping typing.

"I didn't saw anything in that fog. I knew we are being drugged, so I could prepare my mind for it." After that, he didn't say anything else until she bid them good night about an hour later. John could see that she wasn't convinced by Sherlock's answer, but she rightly realized she would not get anything else out of him today.

John, however, wasn't about to give his friend a break. He saw Molly to the doors, planing to catch a taxi for her (no need, the moment they stepped outside, sleek black car appeared around the corner and stopped right before them. John had to admit, having Mycroft as a husband really did have its perks). He helped Molly into the car, handing her a container with bio-waste and waved her off.

When he came back up to the flat, Sherlock was just stepping from the window. John didn't need to be a genius to figure out what was he doing there. He smirked knowingly, but didn't say a word, instead offering Sherlock the bottle he and Molly previously shared. To his surprise, Sherlock accepted it and took a large gulp.

"You did saw something. In the Hollow," said John, deciding it was best not to beat around the bush. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Drop it John. You already wrote your story, you can't start editing it now," he handed the bottle back to its owner. John took it.

"I can do exclusive interview with the main character," he offered, earning smug smirk from the detective. To wipe it out, doctor quickly added:

"I meant Henry." Sherlock gave him annoyed look.

"Of course you did," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. John didn't waver.

"What did you see, Sherlock," he repeated his question sternly.

It took Sherlock a while before he answered. He motioned to John to give back the bottle and after he took a deep sip, he uttered the name John was sure would hunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

"Moriarty."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Thank you all for your reviews, especially to one anonymous guest for pointing out some inconsistencies in chapter four. Hopefully fixed now :)_**

* * *

First time John finally heard the history behind Holmes-Holmes-Holmes triangle was at the moment he shouldn't care less. But he did.

The deed was done. Moriarty finished his sick game and Sherlock jumped from Bart's rooftop to his death, in his last words claiming himself to be a fraud, fake... failure. John didn't believe it. He refused to believe it. Part of his mind was still refusing to believe that the whole thing even really happened. But with every passing day, he was forced to face the reality more and more. Sherlock was gone.

They day of his friend's funeral was raining. Of course it was. Service was attended only by a handful of people. Beside him and Mrs. Hudson came just Lestrade, some of Sherlock's former clients, couple of his homeless network contacts and for some reason Philip Anderson. John noticed he looked rather shaken up, but he didn't care about him enough to inquire what was that about. He didn't even felt proper rage at him for showing, despite him being one of the people who were after Sherlock from the beginning. No... Anderson simply didn't deserve John's rage. Who _did_ wasn't there.

None of Sherlock's family showed up. John of course knew they weren't any particularly close, but he still expected them at the service. But they didn't come. Not Sherlock's parents. Not Mycroft. But what shocked John the most - not even Molly.

That was why he was now striding through the halls of Mycroft's work place, heading right towards the man's office. He wasn't even sure he was there for answers or explanation or just for someone to yell at. He yelled at Anthea (or whatever her name was these days), demanding to know where Mycroft was. She stopped the security from taking him into detention cell, but didn't let him in either. So after he was escorted outside, he run around the block, knocked out one of the perimeter guards and stole his clothes, sneaking back into the building. He had about twenty minutes before guards regular check-in and he intended to use them fully.

But when he reached the hall leading to Mycroft's office, he found the room itself empty. He looked around. There was only one other door in the room beside those he came through and those heading to office. John made a few quick steps towards them, noticing them opened a crack. When he got close enough, he heard muffled voices, deeper one unmistakably belonging the older Holmes brother. He was already touching the handle, ready to open the door and step inside, when the words coming out from Mycroft's mouth made him freeze in his movements.

"I did a mistake, those years ago." There was silence. John could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Finally, second, gentle and definitely feminine voice asked:

"What mistake?" It was Molly. John shifted a little so he could see inside. They were sitting in the chairs, facing the unlit fireplace.

Mycroft took a while before answering.

"Marrying you." To her credit, Molly didn't look at all shocked or offended, she just silently watched her husband and waited for an explanation. Mycroft took a sip from the glass he was holding and then continued.

"I thought... I thought that was the only way to keep you in his life." Absolutely calmly, Molly objected.

"I wouldn't leave." John noticed the saddest of smiles run across Mycroft's lips.

"I know that now," he said and took another sip before continuing.

"You are stronger than you look. But back then... you were young. Sherlock was young. And you were the only thing that was keeping him away from drugs." Now it was Molly's turn to smile a little.

"That's not how I remember it," she protested. Mycroft didn't argue.

"Very well, not completely away from them, but certainly from overdosing." He sighed, but immediately started talking again, suddenly looking older than John ever saw him before.

"You didn't knew him those years before. There wasn't a month I wouldn't have to go and dig him up from some junkie squat. I would wash him, feed him, get him a doctor and then the first moment I let down my guard, he would run away again and I would spent next several weeks by trying to find him again and this would go in circle again and again..." He sounded desperate and John's heart stung uncomfortably, his rage on Mycroft disappearing faster than he would like it to.

"Oh, Mycroft..." Molly leaned towards her husband, taking his hand in hers. Mycroft gratefully returned the press and continued talking.

"And then you came. And suddenly, Sherlock had interest in something else than testing what new compound of drugs his body will stand. He began to work with you on your project and then even went back to school."

"He was still using."

"Yes... but that was ludicrous opposite to what was before. You gave him a purpose. You gave him a reason to not waste his life. You saw something in him when everyone else stopped even hope." Guilt. Mycroft's voice was laced with guilt, realized John.

"You didn't. You were there for him, always," said Molly in gentle voice, an attempt to soothe him, but Mycroft wouldn't let her.

"No, my dear, I wasn't. Before you found him, I... gave up. It was almost four months since I last saw him. Before he left, we had a big row, bigger than ever before. And I told him some awful things..." Molly tried to once more reassure him.

"I'm quite sure he said his good deal of nasty things as well." This time, she earned a tired smile from her husband and a pat on the back of her hand.

"As he always did. But..." Mycroft shook his head. John's throat tightened. It was painful just listen... but he couldn't leave, even if he wanted to. He turned his attention back to the scene before him, just in time to hear Mycroft start talking again.

"What I said... was horrible. Cruel. I told him what disappointment he is to me. To our parents. I told him he's a fucking psychopath, freak. I told him he should be locked in the cage somewhere. I told him all those terrible, terrible things people were telling him since he was a little boy. Things which drove him to the drugs in the first place." He looked like he was on the edge of tears. Molly was already crying, still firmly clasping his hand.

"I was just so tired. Something snapped in me that day and I just shouted at my little brother, telling him to get out of my house and my life. Telling him that we would be all happier without him in our lives." Mycroft shook his head, reaching by his other hand to his eyes, covering them for a few seconds before continuing.

"I never hated myself so much as I did after I realized he did exactly what I told him to do. He was gone and I just knew that I wouldn't find him this time. I knew that next time I would see him, I would be identifying his corpse." John's guts wretched in pain. Nothing made sense anymore. How could be this the same man who fed Moriarty with stories about Sherlock in order to gain information from the psychotic criminal?

"Mycroft..." Molly tried to say something, but Mycroft interrupted her, giving her suddenly sharp alert look, desperation not entirely gone from his eyes, but seriously suppressed by genuine wonder, like he was discovering something about his wife, something he wasn't able to figure out in the years they spent together.

"I hated myself and then suddenly, _you_ called that you have my brother and if I could get him into rehab," he said and Molly actually laughed a little bit.

"Well, he didn't stay there for long. Though I'm pretty sure that those three hours were the longest in his bloody life." Mycroft chuckled and in one moment, John felt his own lips stretch into something which on better day would probably resemble a smile. How absurd was that?

"Yes... but you got him there. Something I never managed." Older Holmes sounded defeated, yet another thing John would never associate with the Ice man. Molly leaned even closer.

"Mycroft, you can't blame yourself. You were always trying to help him. I know you did. And what is more important, so did Sherlock. And he... loved you for that... you know... in his own, unique way. He knew you always wanted only the best for him." It were those words that made John's fury on Mycroft dissolve. He wanted to shout at him for selling his friend to a psychopath, throwing Sherlock into game he couldn't win and then not helping him, for not even bothering coming to his brother's funeral. He wanted to shout at Molly too, actually, but he suddenly understood now. Just like he couldn't talk about it, they couldn't face it. They couldn't face the fact that after years and years of saving Sherlock from destroying himself they failed him. At least, that was what John saw in this.

"I didn't always chose the right approach, though." John's thoughts were interrupted by Mycroft's voice once again.

"I married you because I thought it would be the only way to keep you in his life." Molly didn't say a thing, just intently listened.

"Your time together at school was ending and I was afraid that the moment you were gone from his life, he would go back to how it was before."

"As I said. I wouldn't leave."

"I needed to be sure. I needed to know, that even if he does something _not good_ again, you will not leave him. He was vexing you and insulting you and arguing with you so many times and I worried that one day, you would finally have enough and snap like I did and leave him to his own devices. And I couldn't let you do it. I couldn't let him chase you away. So I binded you to my side, into a marriage you didn't really wanted and for that, I'm deeply sorry." There was a silence, interrupted only by ticking of the clocks in the hall John was standing in. He should leave, he knew... But then Molly finally spoke again.

"I wasn't binded into anything," she said, her voice gentle and quiet, but determined and serious at the same time. She reached by the hand that wasn't clasping Mycroft's and touched her husband's face, making him look at her.

"If I didn't want to marry you, I wouldn't. I married you because you were charming and kind and because you cared for me." She meant it, every word, John realized, but there was something left unsaid, he could feel it. And so could Mycrfot. He looked at her intently. Sad smile appeared at Molly's lips.

"And because... no matter how determined _I_ was not to leave _him_ , I was afraid _he_ would leave _me_. And I couldn't bear the thought of that. I wanted to stay close to him, in whatever capacity I could." New tears appeared in her eyes. Mycroft wiped them in a gesture so tender, it made John guts clench again.

"I never realized," whispered Mycroft. Molly snorted out something between chuckle and sob.

At that moment, John's legs finally started obey his brain's instructions again and he moved back from the door. He couldn't listen any more. Making few steps towards the window in the hall, he opened it and then quickly sneaked out by it, suddenly dreading the thought of being caught and taken in front of Mycroft and Molly and thus interrupting their moment of honesty.

His head was swarming with thoughts. New informations were blending together with old ones, putting together a picture of his friend's youth. Of his family. Of all things Sherlock never told John.

 _Petty feud indeed_.

How could be three people so clever be simultaneously so stupid?


End file.
